


How To Narrowly Avoid Ruining a Music Career

by figurehead



Category: Music RPF, The Cure (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Gallows Humor, Hinted sexual content, I've just killed off morrissey, Petty Squabbling, Sorry Not Sorry, This is ridiculous, accidental murder, as in robert mentions getting dicked down by simon to win an argument, dead body disposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figurehead/pseuds/figurehead
Summary: The former Smiths frontman Morrissey's solo career has been prematurely ended through unfortunate means, and it's up to Robert Smith and Simon Gallup of The Cure to dispose of the body. Unfortunately, neither of them can do that without bickering over it at each other.





	How To Narrowly Avoid Ruining a Music Career

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of pure fiction. I am not associated with any member of The Cure or The Smiths, nor do I intend to make any insinuations about their personal lives. At the time of writing, all of the individuals featured in this story are alive and well.
> 
> WHEW I started writing this in June 2015 but then life and other fandoms and special interests got in the way so I decided to finish this on a whim just now lmao. I figured I should bung this here before I post this other thing I finished today as well after working on that for eight months, here we fuckin go, fuck trident, davey cameron is a pie etc etc  
> Oh yeah this is set in 1989

"I can never seem to keep out of trouble when you're around, can't I?" Simon sighed wearily as he inspected the body in the boot of his car, his hands planted on his hips. Robert exited the car out of the passenger's side and threw his hands up defensively, spluttering "I fucking said it was an accident! You know I'd never actually kill anybody on purpose!"  
Simon let his head fall into his hands with a loud groan before he turned to face his best friend. "I know that, Robert, I fucking know that," he snapped, "you've told me that about eight million fucking times! Now have you got a shovel?"  
"No, I haven't got a fucking shovel," Robert shot back, his hands buried in his own hair in frustration. "It's not like I came here prepared, is it? D'you just expect me to keep a shovel on me at all times just in case I happen to accidentally murder Morrissey?"

Simon shut the boot of the car and sat on top of it, his face still hidden by his hands. "Look, Robin," he sighed, choosing to push the image of a recently deceased Morrissey stored in his own vehicle out of his mind. "We've always been in this together, yeah? I've always said I'd be the one to lend you a hand when you find yourself dangling off the edge of a cliff, and I don't doubt you'd do the same for me. So just hear me out, yeah? I've got another idea." He looked over at Robert to gauge his reaction, and of course, he was standing perfectly still, waiting for Simon to continue.  
"What is it?" Robert finally spoke hesitantly after what felt like an age.

Simon took a deep breath and leaned back against the boot of the car. "What if instead of burying him, we dumped him in the lake? Y'know, make it look like a suicide or something."  
"Simon, have you gone completely fucking mad?" Robert cried out in disbelief. "It's not gonna look anything like a suicide because of that massive fucking gash in his head!" With a huff of frustration he stomped away from the car and sat down on the grass, crossing his arms childishly.  
Lost for words, Simon leaned forward and buried his head in his hands, taking in a short, sharp breath, before he lifted himself up off the boot of the car to stand on the grass again. "Okay, obviously that was the worst fucking idea I've ever had in my life," he sighed, "so how about this? We've already established he goes in a body of water, right? But what if he'd left the party early and decided to go for a walk, slipped, hit his head on the rocks down by the river and fell in?"

For a moment, a brief silence fell between the two of them, and then Robert was turning his head to face Simon, then he was standing up slowly, cautiously, still not able to believe the words that'd just come out of his best friend's mouth.  
"Everyone saw us leave the party with his arms on our shoulders, so you'd better have a decent fucking alibi for me already," he said, his arms still folded across his chest. "But if you think it'll work, then fine. Let's chuck him in the river."

Simon punched the air triumphantly. "Yes!" he grinned. "Any longer in my car and he'd have fucking stank the place up!" He moved to open the boot of the car and peered inside, beckoning Robert over. Robert obliged, his stomach churning as he got a better look at Morrissey's body stuffed unceremoniously in the boot of Simon's car, and he felt as if he'd need several rounds of beer to get the image out of his head for the week.  
"Okay, you grab his legs and on the count of three we'll lift him out," Simon said, leaning down to grasp Morrissey's lifeless arms. Robert was already way ahead of him, his hands clasped around the former Smiths frontman's ankles, and he was looking over at Simon anxiously, waiting on his command. They locked eyes for a while longer, Robert's teeth worrying at his lip, before Simon began to speak.  
"Alright, on the count of three, remember? One… two… three!"

With some effort, the two men began to lift the late Mancunian out of the boot of the car, his body dangling limply between the two of them. "Jesus, he's heavier than I thought!" Robert cried as he struggled to keep Morrissey from dragging along the grass. "And he used to make fun of my weight, the prick!"  
"In a way, I'm kind of glad he's dead," Simon huffed, cautiously looking around him all the while, "that way I won't have to read about him running his fucking mouth in the NME anymore." For a moment he stopped in his tracks, shifting his hands up towards Morrissey's elbows to elevate him further above the ground, then waited expectantly for Robert to do the same on his end. "What're you waiting for?" he snapped, a little harsher than he had intended.

"Yeah, this isn't gonna work," said Robert with a heavy sigh. "I mean, walking backwards isn't doing you any good. Let me take him."

Simon released Morrissey's arms with a loud groan, paying no attention to the sickening thump that the former Smiths frontman's upper body made as he hit the ground. "There you go again, always wanting to do everything by your fucking self!" he groaned, holding his arms out by his sides and then clasping them to his head. "Just because you got yourself into this mess doesn't mean you can get out of it that easily and leave me behind!"  
"Simon, we're not gonna get anywhere if we start yelling at each other now!" Robert hissed, urging Simon to keep his voice down. "Look, do you want to get this over with or do you want to have a go at me about nothing?"  
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you in to the police if this goes tits up," said Simon all too calmly as he folded his arms over his chest.

A knowing, crimson-lipped smirk spread gradually across Robert's face. "Well, on one hand, you'd have to live with the guilt of betraying your best mate, and on the other hand you'd miss the feeling of me squirming on your cock, how's that for a good reason or two not to turn me in?"

For a moment the two men stayed completely silent, gauging one another's expressions, waiting for the other to make his move. Then it was Simon who acted first, letting out a long sigh and unfolding his arms, still regarding Robert with an uncertain gaze. "Okay," he said after what felt like an age. "You carry him on your shoulders and I'll lead the way."  
With a wide grin, Robert immediately moved to hoist the lifeless body up onto his shoulders, paying no mind to the extra weight at his back as he turned to face Simon expectantly. Simon scanned the horizon for a moment, making sure there was nobody else in sight, before he set off on his way toward the river further northwest, motioning to Robert to follow him. As they walked Robert felt his shoulders and feet protesting with the exertion of having to carry the late Smiths frontman at his back across an empty field for several kilometres, and he suddenly became aware of the biting cold in the midnight air, though he dared not complain seeing it was all because of his own stupid fucking actions that he and Simon were even in this situation at all. After all, if he hadn't gotten into that fist fight with Morrissey in the men's room, which had ended with Robert slamming Morrissey's face into the mirror a little harder than he'd intended, none of this would be happening in the first place.  
"Nearly there," Simon called out to him over his shoulder. Christ, Robert could have sworn Simon was almost telepathic at times. Still, he exhaled hard and strode onward, very much looking forward to going back to bed when this was all over.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, Robert and Simon finally approached a wide river that wound and stretched across the field for several miles before disappearing into a dense forest far off on the horizon, the water flowing loud and fast like a burgeoning crowd – _the perfect setting for an accidental death_ , Robert figured as he set Morrissey's lifeless body back down on the grass, looking over at Simon for guidance. Simon made his way back over towards Robert, glancing down at the ground where the recently deceased Mancunian wordsmith lay, then leaned down to grab his ankles as Robert did the same on the opposite end. "Alright, same as earlier, yeah?" he said, locking eyes with Robert. "We'll lift him up on the count of three, then toss him in the river. How's that sound?"  
Robert shrugged in agreement, then waited anxiously for the signal from Simon to lift the body up off the ground; after all, he was very much eager to get this done before rigor mortis set in. Soon enough, Simon gave the command, and he and Robert simultaneously hoisted Morrissey up off the grass, then looked back at one another for a moment in silence, waiting for either one to take the next step.

"What're you waiting for? Swing him!" Simon hissed anxiously, and so the two men swung the cadaver from side to side, gradually building up momentum, before finally releasing him and watching as he hit the water with a loud splash, then became briefly submerged. Morrissey resurfaced soon afterward, still as dead as any disco dancer, much to Robert and Simon's relief, and as the current began to send him on his destination Simon lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag, the smoke curling past his lips as he exhaled before dissolving into the chilly air.

"You do know this means we're never gonna be invited to another record company party ever again?" Simon spoke up, his eyes still following the path of Morrissey's lifeless body floating down the river.  
"Do I look like I give a shit?" said Robert as he sat down on the grass. "I've always fucking hated record company parties."


End file.
